England's Bad Day
by My Sweet Chaos
Summary: Arthur's day is going poorly when Francis decides to help him out- and accidentally speaks his biggest secret! Chaos ensues. Now it's Arthur's turn to try and improve Francis's day. FrUK fluff! Human and country names used. One-shot.


A/N: Yay for ships! I am a hard shipper of most of the common Hetalia ships, except for a few that don't make sense to me. For instance, I have nothing really _against_ UsUK, but it seems a little odd to me. I mean, England is kind of canon America's _father_. Also, France and England have the most complicated, arbitrary history. They're like an old married couple. So FrUK forever, I say!

Arthur was having a bad day.

First he lost his notes for the World Conference, although secretly he suspected Scotland took them- the whole referendum thing had made his older brother even more annoying, if that was possible. Then his car wouldn't start, so he had to hitch a ride with Spain, which was rather uncomfortable. During the conference, everyone was really incredibly rude to him- he suspected he deserved it, but at least he _tried_ to be a gentleman. And now, France was standing in the doorway and wouldn't let him through.

"_Move_, you bloody Frog. I'm not in the mood for this today."

Francis tilted his head, blue eyes glinting. "Oh, _Angleterre_. Having a bad day?"

He was briefly tempted to lie, but something told him that France would know at once, and then there'd be trouble. "Yes. Now if you would just move aside and let me through, I can go home and find something better to do than stand here and be made fun of."

"Ah, but I do not mean to make fun of you, _Angleterre_. _Je ne sais pas comment dire… vous semblez très malheureux._"

"None of your silly language, please," Arthur groaned, rubbing his temple under spiky blond hair, where he could feel a headache coming on. "Unless you plan to do something to improve my bad day, like _getting out of my bloody way_, kindly go bother someone else."

"_Peut-être,_" Francis said thoughtfully, "You should come over to my house. I will make you some tea."

Arthur's eyes widened. "You… want to make me tea?"

Francis laughed at the smaller country's expression. "Well, _sometimes_ you are not hateful to me, so why should I be hateful to you? Besides, you seem to be having a few difficulties with today. Tea normally improves things for you, _non_?"

"Er… yes, it does…" Arthur was surprised to find himself looking forward to some tea, and perhaps a quiet chat with Francis. Sometimes, they did get along- and when they did, England knew he enjoyed it much more than he said he did. "All right then, if you really want me to, I'll come to your house. But I can't stay long- I think I have to go find Allistair and rescue my notes from him."

"Oh, I do not think you should worry about that now, _Angleterre_."

"What? Why?"

Francis chose not to respond, instead offering an arm, and Arthur took it, hoping that with a cup of Earl Grey in his hands he would feel better.

He _did_ feel a little more complete with a pretty teacup clutched in his hands, the familiar china with the pattern of roses that France had owned since England had given it to him when they signed the Treaty of Kingston all those hundreds of years ago. The soothing scent of the tea, which Francis had prepared right for once, was washing over him in gentle waves and smoothly erasing his headache.

"Feeling better, _Angleterre_?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes, a bit, thanks. I still don't understand why we had to come here for tea when we could have just gotten some at the Conference. The refreshments there really aren't that bad." Privately, he also wondered at France's casual dismissal of the loss of his notes, which were really very important to him.

Francis just laughed lightly, pouring himself a cup of tea as well and sitting next to him. "You were rubbing your temples, _non_? You always do that when you have a headache. I thought it would be better for you to come here, where it is not so busy, than stay there and listen to all the bickering and such."

"I would have just sat with Canada or something."

"_Non_, _rosbif_," France shook his head. "This is better. I know not why you are so determined to refuse my kindness, but if you really would rather go back to the Conference hall and listen to _Italie_ squealing over _Allemagne_ some more, the door is there."

Arthur stared at the tea, swirling his cup from left to right, and then lowered his gaze even further, to the floor. "…No, I suppose you're right. This is more quiet." He felt his cheeks reddening. "… and more pleasant, too. Thank you, Frog."

"_Je serai toujours là pour vous,_" Francis murmured, sounding like the perfect, polite host- rather like Japan. It would be nice, Arthur pondered, if he knew what the Frenchman was saying.

They sat in silence, sipping tea, until Arthur reached the bottom of his cup. He set it down on its matching saucer, stood politely, and said "Thank you for the tea- but now I really must go find those notes. Knowing my brother, he's probably tossing them in the Loch Ness or something."

"Ah, _Angleterre_," Francis said, sounding a little awkward, and almost sad. "That may not be…"

"What?"

"Well…" Francis paused and then burst into rapid French. "_J'ai pris vos notes à partir de votre sac ce matin parce que je voulais passer du temps avec vous, mais vous étiez si inquiet à ce sujet que je voulais vous donner un peu de thé parce que je ne veux pas que vous avez une crise cardiaque, mais je ne pouvais pas vous dire je t'aime et je ne peux pas-" _

Arthur wasn't France. He couldn't speak French at all, or rather he tried to forget any French he learned. But even he could figure out what 'je t'aime' meant. "Francis…"

"_Non_," Francis said, controlling himself with difficulty. "I suppose it is time for you to go home. Please…"

Arthur took the not-so-subtle hint to leave.

He didn't see Francis again until the next world conference.

The Frenchman sat himself as far away from Britain's seat as possible, and didn't meet his eye throughout. Arthur watched him, noting how forced his laughter seemed, how tight his smile.

'_je taime et je ne peux pas-_'

The Frog's voice broke into his thoughts, as it had done ever since the last Conference. _I love you_. Was that true?

And why was he hearing it in his head so much?

It wasn't like he hadn't heard Francis say it before, to French girls, to Joan of Arc. But this one was meant for him, Arthur. France couldn't mean that he actually _loved_ England, could he?

The Conference was ending. There was only one thing to do.

"Frog?"

Francis started when he heard Arthur's voice, and the Englishman flinched in sympathy. "Um… are you having a bad day?"

Turning slowly to look at him, Francis nodded slightly, looking downcast. Arthur thought about it for a minute, and realized he would really like it if Francis were to say those few words again. "Would you like to come over to my place for some wine or something? Shoot- I'm not very good at this."

Francis regarded him with an indifferent look. "Why?"

Hmm. "Ummm… well, I'm a gentleman, so I had to ask, right? Also, I think you have some of my Conference notes… I _would _like those back, you know!"

"All right, _Angleterre_," France said, sounding, to Arthur's untrained ears, totally uninterested. "If those notes are that important to you, I will come over."

"O-okay."

Arthur didn't drink much, as a matter of course- he had a rather low tolerance. But he did have a bottle of wine or two, mostly presents from Italy, waiting for any special occasions in his freezer. "Here."

He tipped some of the claret liquid into a glass, the bottle clinking. "Sooo… Fro- France… um… what was it you were saying when I went over to your house?"

Yeah, not the most subtle approach, but Arthur was desperate. He had to hear what Francis had said again. It was of great importance, for some reason.

"I believe I was about to mention that I had taken your notes, _oui_?" Francis replied briefly.

"No, not that- the other thing…" he was floundering, as he should have been- because why did he want to hear him say it again so much, except if… no, that made no sense. He couldn't be in love with _France_. "The big long French paragraph."

France licked a long finger and ran it along the edge of his wineglass, producing a low, ringing note. "What about it?"

"Blast it, are you being _this difficult_ on _purpose_?" Arthur shouted, suddenly unable to sit there and listen to Francis's uncaring speech. "I _love_ you, you stupid-_bloody-_idiot- gah!"

Out of words to describe his rage, he gave instead a wordless howl of exasperation and turned away.

"_Tu m'aimes_?"

"_No_, you arse, I'm just saying that because I like the way the words sound. Why the _hell_ would I have asked you over today if I didn't- didn't-"

There was the sound of a chair sliding roughly back over his kitchen floor, then long arms wrapped around him from behind. "_Tu m'aimes, mon chèr?_"

"didn't _love you?_" Arthur finished, wondering why the sky suddenly seemed a little bluer, the light a little rosier.

"_Et je t'ai aimé toujours, Angleterre._"

Hearing the 'je t'aime' pattern again, Arthur turned in Francis's arms, looking into those blue eyes, which looked so different from the dullness they'd been earlier today. "Really?"

"I already said so, did I not?"

"Well, say it again, you idiot."

"_Je t'aime_."

Arthur felt his cheeks flame up. "And I you."

Arthur was having a bad day.

His car wouldn't start again, he'd accidentally slammed his finger in the door when he left his house, and the conference was a mess of noise and fighting that seemed designed to cause him a headache.

Despite all of this, he had persevered- for even now, with bandaged finger rubbing his temple in exasperation, his other hand was being tightly squeezed under the table in Francis's warm palms, and his ears were filled with the few French words he understood.

At the end of the day, Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom personified, couldn't help but feel like maybe the day hadn't been _totally_ awful after all.

A/N: Yeah, it's fluff. But it's nice fluff. I always like to point out that England does his best to be a gentleman since lots of people portray him as evil. He isn't evil, he just happens to love power- just like all the other countries. Anyways, any country that can produce Harry Potter, Doctor Who _and_ Sherlock can't possibly be evil.

Maybe I'll do a longer story next, depending on where the Flying Mint Plot Bunnies take me. Reviews are not necessary, but normally nice. _Non_?

Sweet Chaos


End file.
